Hating The Hockey Captain

Sarah’s POV

The air in the arena smelled exactly like I remembered.

The smell of sweat, old leather, and toxic masculinity.

It was a scent that had once been intoxicating. The smell of victory, the smell that made me feel untouchable, but now it just made my stomach churn.

I gripped the strap of my camera bag so tightly my knuckles went white.

Don't look at the logo, don't look at the logo. It was a ridiculous mantra. The logo, a menacing hawk, was plastered everywhere in the arena.

In the center of the field, on the seats surrounding the arena, anything you could think of has the logo.

This was enemy territory. And, until two months ago, I would have rather died than be caught dead than seen standing in the arena of the club that took the championship cup from us–from Jax, my ex.

This job was a dream. A dream I never thought was going to come true, not after the nasty scandal that followed the equally messy breakup with the star player of the bulls.

Some would say moving across the continent to avoid your ex was insane. But I would say, moving away from the place that has every Tom, dick and Harry calling me a puck bunny was the best decision of my life.

I’d just knelt down, trying to get a dramatic, low angle shot of one the Hawks’ forward tying his skates, when a voice as smooth as butter startled me.

"Well, well. Look what the Zamboni dragged in."

My head snapped up.

This was Liam Riley.

The Hawk’s star player and apparently, the only person on the planet whose resting face looked like he’d just bitten into a lemon that had been steeped in vinegar.

He stood over me, his enormous figure casting a shadow, looking less than thrilled to share the same oxygen with me.

He was infamous for his brutal honesty, his on-ice aggression, and his absolute zero-tolerance policy for any distraction during the season.

And the look on his face told me I represented everything he hates.

He crossed his arms, the red jersey stretching over his shoulders. "Didn’t think the team was hiring… puck bunnies now. Guess they’re really desperate for morale boosters."

The blood drained from my face, then roared back in a humiliating wave of heat.

The term. That stupid, demeaning term that made all my hard work go down the drain. I stood up fast, leveling my gaze at his chest—I refused to meet his eyes.

"I’m Sarah Wishers, the team’s new photographer. I take my job seriously and I’m very professiona.l”  I said, my voice dangerously even.

He gave a slow, insulting sweep of my body with his eyes, lingering just long enough to make me feel small. "Sure you are. Look, you wanna take pictures, fine. But you keep your drama, your baggage, and especially your hands off my team. We’re focused on the cup, and we don't need any high-profile distractions running around the dressing room."

My mouth opened, ready to unleash a carefully curated stream of professional venom, when the Hawks’ head coach clapped his hands loudly.

"Riley! Your ass should be on that ice. And Wishers," he glanced between us with a knowing, slightly amused look. "You’re glued to Riley for the next month. Every practice, every interview, every charity event. He’s the star of our new promotional campaign. Get comfortable with each other."

My jaw actually dropped. Glued? To him? This glorified asshole?

Liam's face went from sour to absolutely murderous. "Coach, with all due respect, no. Absolutely not."

Coach Richard just kept his eyes on his scoreboard. "You don’t have a say in this. Now hustle."

Liam didn't move. His icy blue eyes locked onto mine, a cold, intense stare that felt like a threat. The initial distaste had been replaced by a simmering fury that matched the fire currently burning in my own chest.

This was not the fresh start I'd been promised.

"You know what?" I said, taking a step closer, refusing to back down. “It would be an honor to work with you Mr. Riley.”

He leaned down, his voice a low growl only I could hear. "It would be best for you if you quit now."

The tension in the air was so thick it was practically static.

I watched him stalk away, his shoulder checking a teammate on the way out.

I knew one thing for certain; I was going to hate every minute of the next month.

Later that evening, I was packing up my gear on the sidelines.

The stadium was nearly empty, just the cleanup crew and a few lingering reporters.

A throat cleared, startling me once again.

I sighed not ready for Liam Riley's judgment after a long day. "Look, whatever you have to say just keep it till the end of the season, and I'll be out of your hair.”

I turned fully to see an amused Evan Fallon, One of the defensemen for the Hawks.

“I see that you’ve met Liam,” he said, a wide grin on his face. “Where are my manners? My name is Evan. Evan Fallon.” he said, flashing me a boyish grin.

I almost melted at the spot, both out of embarrassment and relief that it wasn't Liam.

"Sarah Wishers," I replied, forcing a smile that felt a little wobbly. "It's nice to meet someone... civil."

Evan chuckled, running a hand through his dark, slightly damp hair. "Don't take Liam too seriously. He's... intense. Especially about the season. But he's all bark, no bite, mostly."

"Mostly?" I raised an eyebrow, recalling the sheer hostility in Liam’s eyes.

"Okay, maybe a little bite," Evan admitted, his grin widening. "But seriously, Sarah. Welcome to the team. He’s just scared of distractions, and well, you’re definitely a distraction." He muttered the last sentence with an appreciative look that made my cheeks warm.

"I'm here to work," I stated firmly, zipping up my main camera bag compartment. "Not to be a distraction."

"Right, right. Professional," Evan said, stepping back as though he just broke out of a trance. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "But hey, if you ever need a tour guide, or just someone who doesn't look like he gargles with acid, you know where to find me."

I laughed out loud.

He winked, then straightened up. "Catch you at practice tomorrow, Wishers."

I watched him disappear into the dressing room. He was charming, easygoing, and entirely too handsome. Everything Liam wasn’t–except being devastatingly good looking.

I let out a long breath as I walked to my car with my equipment.

My phone pinged in my pocket as I settled in the driver's seat.

Unknown: You can’t escape me.